Tag Archives: John Doe

Los Angeles punk has always had its own distinct aesthetic, inspired by New York and London but shaped by its environment: the West, Hollywood, the ‘burbs. Somehow, LA punks seem to be aging more relevantly than their peers. This weekend I saw three artists from the earliest, old school days of Los Angeles calling: Alice Bag (the Bags), Phranc (Nervous Gender), and John Doe (X). Punk’s disruption of traditional beauty standards and of heteronormativity always seemed particularly radical in the shadow of Tinseltown, but these AARP-age idols show that choosing original style over the surgeon’s knife is the best revenge. Their music has also matured not declined. Chops may not be punk’s raison d’etre, but these three have them: Doe has always been the genre’s most golden-voiced crooner, but Bag and Phranc are also skilled singers. They flubbed some lines but their harmonies were pitch perfect as they played their second gig as the act with the best “shipped” name ever …. wait for it … PHAG!

Phranc (I love the guitar sticker!)

If you don’t know what a shipped name is, then clearly you don’t have a teenager: Short for relationship, it means the single name that results from the union of two, such as Brangelina, Kimye, and now, Phag. Phranc and Alice have known each other since at least the early ’80s, when they both were in Castration Squad. As that act’s name indicates, they were (and are) gender warriors. They found refuge in punk’s embrace of outsiders, as they discussed on a panel at the Grrrls on Film festival at Loyola Marymount University in 2016. But Phranc in particular also found racism and homophobia, and eventually she rejected the scene and rebranded herself as the “All-American Jewish Lesbian Folksinger,” revealing the warm, womanly tones underneath punk’s noise and her flat-top ‘do. She’s still a little bit folky, while Bag’s a little bit rock’n’roll, as they sang Friday night at the Razorcake 100th issue party at Avenue 50 Studio. They were parodying Donny and Marie, but the original goal of their union, they said, was to be the Smothers Brothers. And sure enough, their act is satiric, slapstick, and also pointedly sincere. They sang songs dissing Mike Pence and praising Malala. They passed around their prototype for a new $20 bill, featuring Harriet Tubman instead of Indian killer Andrew Jackson. They were funny and sweet and sloppy and pissed. I told my compatriots Allison Wolfe and Sharon Mooney that we had to start their fan club now, and I have the perfect name for it: The Phag Hags! Continue reading →

If you’re going to pay tribute to the great Patsy Cline, work on your yodel. I reviewed the Walt Disney Concert Hall show, featuring the Living Sisters, Zooey Deschanel, John C. Reilly, Shirley Manson, and John Doe, for Spin.

“That’s our production,” John Doe joked as the ginormous cruise ship that had just blasted him and Exene Cervenka into silence passed by the stage at the Lobster Festival in San Pedro Sunday. The ex (and now current again) X’ers who are also each other’s exes had been strumming and singing when the Royal Caribbean boat sounded its horn, rendering the musicians completely inaudible. Admirably, Doe and Cervenka stopped, saluted the decibel competitor, and lauded its hearty win — even while attempting to co-opt the ocean liner as a prop. It’s like that at the Lobster Festival; even musical semi-legends have to concede to the crazy, drunken commerce of life by the port.

The Lobster Festival is San Pedro’s county fair, an ode to dizzying rides, surly carnies, greasy food, and crustaceans. The latter cost $18, were surprisingly good for carnival food, and there were no long lines to buy them, as there were last year. This year, the festival also featured some good, local bands. On Saturday, Fitz and the Tantrums overcame sound problems to deliver their retro soul with sharkskin-suit style. Singers Fitz and Noelle Scaggs both have superb voices and an interesting dynamic; he’s all Bryan Ferry dapper, she’s all Tina Turner hot. The sexual and racial connotations of this pairing were a bit disturbing when, trying to affect some Southern soul man vibe, he called her “my girl.” But with songs as catchy and convincing as their KROQ hit “Moneygrabber,” I’m willing to risk political incorrectness and like FATT.

We could talk all night about the postcolonial ramifications of the Asian-pop-meets-indie-rock Dengue Fever, who followed FATT Saturday. All I’ll say here is that singer Chhom Nimol’s Cambodian diva wails were both sexy and heavenly, but the rest of the band weren’t keeping up.

I hadn’t seen John and Exene in many years; I was once a huge X fan. It was interesting to hear old punk songs like “Because I Do” and “In This House That I Call Home” stripped down, but even without the boat traffic, the acoustic guitars got a little lost in all that open air. Still, John and Exene have deep cultural history in LA; Cervenka, who was diagnosed with MS last year, saluted the region that has supported her art for 34 years.

Cole didn’t win any prizes at the water-gun balloon booth. But the weather was perfect, and when else can you see perfectly groovy hipsters wearing silly lobster hats.